This Is My Story
by DMS44
Summary: Please listen. This may be our last chance. A novelization of Final Fantasy X, written from the perspective of its protagonist.


**Disclaimer: **Final Fantasy X and all related properties are the property of Square Enix. This work is intended to be a tribute to the original, and will not result in profit. Please support the official release.

* * *

_ The haunting beauty of the setting sun drew my attention, but my heart was in my throat for another reason. We were here, at the precipice of the end. An ending I won't be writing._

_ The warmth of our fire is an ephemeral comfort, and frail sentinel against the biting cold. All around us, death. I stood, looking each of my allies, my friends, my family in the face. A solemn grimace on a scarred visage. A strained simulacrum of a smile on a boyish face that had lost its innocence and belief right alongside mine. The milky complexion of a pale beauty flushed with the blush of fear. A primal sorrow giving inhuman features the most human countenance of all. The most talkative and bubbly source of expression in our motley crew struck dumb. All by the end we were about to write._

_ And then there was her. The stoic, immeasurably powerful beauty who bound us all together. We had come so far, accomplished so much, because of our love and loyalty to her. We'd taken this angel here, where she would write the ending. I don't remember standing up, but as I felt the soft skin of her shoulder underneath my palm, she looked up at me, her green and blue eyes shining with the same light that had struck me dumb so many times. I had wanted to comfort her, and still she was comforting me._

_ I couldn't face her anymore. Not now. I offered what smile I could in return, and she closed her eyes, ever so subtly brushing her cheek to the back of my hand. And then she was gone, pulled back within her thoughts, her focus returned to the dancing flames and the dying embers of possibility._

_I turned from them, and strode over to where we had erected a temporary monument to our mismatched coalition; Our weapons, formed in a crude altar. I stared beyond it, at the ruins of this long dead city. My home. My story was coming full circle._

_ Please. Listen to my story. This might be our last chance._

_ It may be my last chance._

* * *

I was dreaming about my old man.

I hadn't seen Jecht in nearly ten years, but he still infected my thoughts like a disease. His sick, superior laugh. His taunting eyes. The unceasing power he seemed to have over my self-worth. That stupid, ill-advised tattoo, the climax of a night's debauchery made symbol of "team commitment". My dreams of my father were never light or mirthful. They were always nightmares, reminders of the countless incidents he had made me feel like dirt as a small child. Reminders of what he had taken from me, when the so-called "Greatest Blitzer of All-Time" had drowned off the coast of Zanarkand all those years ago. I wasn't sad to see him go, but my day-to-day bore the scars of his death _and _his life, and I was convinced I would always hate him for it.

Thankfully, my mind rapidly decided it was tired of Jecht and shook me from my doze. I sat up, stretching in that overly dramatic style a man can only get away with in the private of his own home, and looked out my window, wincing at the soreness in my abs. Just a couple of days ago, I had played the physical and brutish Punishers of City Block C-North, and my body still ached from the effort. I'd have to shake it off. Tonight, my Abes and I would play in the finals of the Jecht Memorial Cup. The biggest tournament in Zanarkand. My first year as a pro, my first trip through to the finals, and my first chance to thumb my nose at the old bastard and get a piece of history for myself.

I put my body through a basic routine and stretches and warmups, trying to banish all thoughts of Jecht from my mind. I checked the clock: About an hour and a half until I was due at the stadium. I grinned to myself as I donned my uniform, black shorts and a yellow vest coated in logos from several sponsors and the Abes themselves. Time to meet my adoring public.

I never thought I'd ever get tired of the blast of noise, the throng of cheers, that met me every time I exited my abode to make my way to a game. The rabid masses of A-East loved their Abes, and I, the beloved, talented rookie, hadn't yet gotten the gil that came with being a superstar. That meant that I lived on a houseboat in the A-East docks, not a posh apartment high-rise in some towering spire amongst Zanarkand's impossibly tall spires, and that meant that I was accessible. I had no sooner left the deck of my improvised domicile when I found myself mobbed by the enthused public.

Three young kids charged up to me, pushing their way through the packed mass of humanity with a determination that more than made up for their small stature and lack of strengths. I beamed; These kids had been the first to discover where I slept, and I had to say, I'd enjoyed their near daily visits over the last few months. One of them thrust a blitzball forward brazenly, a stupid grin plastered on his face. "Hey! Can you sign this?"

I gave him a thumbs up. "Another one? No problem!" I palmed the ball, admiring it, and tried to hide a grimace as I noticed the make; A Jecht Cup special edition commemorative ball. Even in the grave, I couldn't hide from the old man. "Got a pen?" I wryly questioned the young fan. One of the other kids held out a bulky black marker without missing a beat. I chuckled, and made my mark, intentionally scrawling over my old man's.

_ Tidus. Chew on that, wherever you are, Jecht._

The smallest of the children, whom I recognized as the meeker little brother of my first patron, held up his own ball. "Please?" He squeaked, his small voice hopeful. "Alrighty!" I said brightly, and repeated the autograph handling the ball back with a wink. I held out my hand, and the little boy looked at it in curiosity. "High five?" I asked, putting on my biggest smile. The kid's smile could have powered on of Zanarkand's countless neon signs. His tiny hand slapped mine, his body flailing with his enthusiastic effort. "Just wash that hand later for me, okay, big guy?" I said, ruffling a hand in his hair as I bypassed the youthful contingent of my fan club to meet the rest. I was greeted by another sea of balls, and I made every effort to keep a genuine smile on my face. "Me, too!" "Sign mine too!" "Come on, Tidus, make a mark for me!" They were nothing if not a passionate bunch. "Take it easy, people!" I laughed. "If I don't get you this time, just come back tonight, _after _we've won the cup!"

This promoted a massive cheer that rippled through the crowd, and I was nearly driven to my knees by the ensuing stampede of back and shoulder claps they passed on to me. I pressed my way through them further, when my attention was drawn to two women standing off to the side. One in pink, one in blue, and both cute. They grinned coyly at me as our eyes met, and with a smirk, I sauntered over. _Time to put some money in the bank._ As I approached, they held out a blitzball of their own. "Can we have your autograph?" I winked. "Of course." I signed merchandise for both of them, and the young lady in the pink top stepped forward, standing sheepishly on her toes, her hands behind her back. "Good luck tonight!"

"Nothing to worry about, ladies!" I didn't have a tremendous amount of free time at this juncture, so I decided to drop my secret weapon and sew up a date early. "Hey, ladies?" They perked up. "If I score a goal tonight, I'll do this." I waved my arms about as if dancing, and they giggled. "That'll mean it was for you, okay?" They went beat red, and started whispering to each other. I smirked. _Flirting perks of being a pro athlete, baby. _"What seat?" The girl in the blue top jumped all over the question. "East block, front row!" The one in pink chimed in excitingly, "Fifth from the right!" I flashed a thumbs up and the smile I typically reserved for reporters. "You got it." They absolutely dissolved at that, chatting excitedly to each other as I turned back to face the crowd. "Okay, folks, I gotta go. I've got a game to play!" Another raucous cheer went up. "Cheer for me?" They screamed again. "I didn't catch that...You gonna cheer for me?" They hollered again, and I smiled, satisfied.

Rounding again to beat a hasty retreat, a found myself face to face with my three smallest fans. "One, two, three..." They counted to themselves quietly, before proclaiming, "Teach us how to blitz!" at the top of their lugs. I couldn't help but laugh; It was absolutely adorable. "I've got to play this game first!" I wagged my finger playfully. "Maybe tonight...um...well..." I sensed a presence beside me, and glanced over. Another small boy, dark skin, wearing a purple cloak, his face covered with a hood. "You can't tonight."

I'd seen this kid before, though nobody else ever did. I'd always considered him my thoughts made visual prop. My conscience, if you will. I'm aware of how mentally ill that sounds, but back then, I wasn't really worried about things that serious. "I mean.. how about we meet up tomorrow morning?" The puppy dog eyes they flashed me could have tamed a fiend. "Promise?" They simpered. I shook my head in mock disdain. The oldest cute kid trick in the book, and it was a dirty one. But, I had to admit, ever so effective. "I promise! Now let me through, you little punks!" They gave me the victory salute and parted to let me pass. This scored them further points with me, because they were the only ones that were so obliging.

Eventually, I'd forced my way through, and began my jog to the stadium. It was only a couple of miles from my front, uh, bow, and running to and from my place of business was a key part of my conditioning program. I soaked in the beauty of the city, and savored the sea-chilled air in my lungs. _What a beautiful evening. _Zanarkand was the city that never slept, a maze of skyscrapers, and an absolute sea of gorgeous architecture. Living there was the best privilege a guy could ask for; We had machines that could fill any function you could imagine. If you had the gil, life was full of fun and games, one endless, lazy lap in the pool of luxury. Playing blitzball in such an environment was a dream come true.

I increased my pace when the stadium crested over the horizon and into my sight line. I had been running on the shoulder of a prominent highway in the city, closed off to the vehicles of the public to keep traffic to the stadium orderly. I was enjoying the time of solitude, when I heard a familiar voice echo across the emptiness. Some popular broadcast personality, talking about, what else? "I was in a coffee shop, running away from home when I heard the news. Our hero, Jecht, gone, vanished into thin air!" I paused, and let out a heavy sigh. Jecht, again. I craned my head upwards, and found his face, plastered to a large billboard promoting the tournament staring back at me. Some tributary broadcast was blaring out of a speaker fixed across the bottom. My run halted, I stood stock still, glaring into the artificial eyes of my old man as the broadcast continued."

"My dad must have been his biggest fan. I knew how sad he'd be. Heck, we all were that day. Zanar, I says to myself, What are you thinking? I went running straight back home. We sat up talking 'bout Jecht all night. My dad and I never talked so much. Whoa... Didn't mean to reminisce, folks." I snorted. Didn't mean to reminisce, my ass. Jecht had that effect on people. "Anyways... Ten years later, the Jecht Memorial Cup tournament is today!" Damn straight. "The two teams that have won through to the finals are...of course, the Abes from A-East and the Duggles from C-South." Of course, the Abes were in the final. Jecht's old team. Led the Zanarkand league in scoring _and _fewest points allowed this year. My team. "I know there's a lot of people out there today to see the star of the Abes!" _You hear that, old man? I'm the star of the Abes, now. You're fish food. _"In just one year, he's become the team's number one player!" _The best player in Zanarkand. The best shooting percentage in a single season of all time. I just had as good a season as you ever had. And tonight, I finish the job. I'll be an even younger champion than you were. _"He's Jecht's blood, and the new hope of blitzball! What kind of super play will he show us today?" I smiled. I had a few ideas. "Will we see his father's legendary shot? I don't think I'm the only one excited here, folks!" _No Jecht Shot, Zanar. Not quite yet. Something pretty cool, though._

I took one last look at Jecht's giant space, and spat in disdain. "I hate you." I snarled. _Tonight is your tournament, old man, but I'm going to take the spotlight right off your big, dead ass. Count on it. _As I completed my run to the stadium, I wondered briefly if Auron would actually show up for the most important night of my season. He was the closest thing I had left to family, the crusty, sarcastic bastard who'd watched over me after Mom...expired. Hadn't seen him in years, but I held out hope he'd deem me worthy of his presence one of these nights. Thinking about Auron sent my brain into auto-pilot, and I blundered in towards the front entrance. Big mistake.

The crowd that sat in between me and where I needed to go dwarfed the one camped out back at my place. Fighting through was a battle in and of itself. "Make way, make way!" Nobody wanted to make way. "Coming through! Hey, I'm gonna be late!" I kept pressing, and winced as I heard my name go up through the crowd. Before I knew it, _everybody _was trying to touch me. "Hey, let go of me! Hands off the merchandise, folks!" I gave the gate attendant a desperate hand signal as I strained to reach the barrier he controlled regulating the entrance to the stadium. He got the message: I crossed the threshold, and he swapped the barrier's permeability, preventing the sea of humanity from spilling in after me. I offered a conciliatory wave behind me, and sauntered to the locker room, finding my team going through their own preparatory ablutions. They regarded me with smiles, but mostly, stony silence. We were an intense bunch, never a group that held "team-building" and "spirit" as high priorities, and tonight was a big deal. Personally? I made sure to high five and hug every player and back up in there. One game to the championship, am I right? Get the party started early.

_Tonight is the last night they talk about Jecht before they talk about Tidus._

* * *

I sighed, and leaned back, enjoying the cool water as it lapped against my skin, and savoring the peace given by the liquid as it blocked out the bulk of outside noise. The team was waiting in the tunnel. Soon, the pool would be filled, and we'd swim out for the face-off. It was game time, and I was in my element.

Blitzball grew to such stratospheric popularity, I was convinced, because it had something to offer anybody. The violent and passionate could enjoy the incredible physicality of the game, as the list of illegal maneuvers was rather small, and tackles ranged from a standard body check to roundhouse kicks delivered to the face(I favored the latter). Those who preferred a more cerebral game could embrace the plays and tactics drawn up by every team to distribute the ball under water, the resistance of which added a whole new element to play. The extreme sports junkies could admire our ability to hold our breath for upwards of five minutes _and _play, a feat that got us professional players no end of praise. It wasn't undeserved; It took _years _of mind-numbing pool and roadwork to build the lungs necessary to play a half. And those who just enjoyed spectacle? They liked blitzball most of all. The sphere pool is one of the slickest, coolest pieces of machinery ever invented, the techies in charge of presentation loved fireworks and light shows, and shooters like me continued to invent new, improved way to make jaws hit the floor when we scored.

Our game plan for this particular match was relatively simple. The Duggles had a lot of size, but their swim speed was considered a liability by the gurus, and their shooters, while highly touted for their boots, had trouble reeling in long passes. We would be playing an extended game of keep away, stretching the pool, and forcing them to distribute the ball over long distances. This would keep our own goal reasonably safe, and maximize turnovers. That was the thought, anyway. Offensively, the plan was even simpler. The left forward and myself, the right forward, would attempt to out pace the defenders, catch the long passes were better suited to catch, and then, bombs away on the Duggles' box. I had a choice few trick shots planned to make the highlight reels, and the rest of the team, right down to the assistant coaches, believed with every fiber of their waterproof uniforms that we were going to crush these jokers. I heard a dull roar echo through the water, and a burst of light made my eyes squint. The tunnel was opening, and the pool was being filled. I had been designated to bring the ball front of center, and I paused briefly on the lip of the tunnel, soaking up the bright lights and the adoration of the audience. Then, I dived into the pool and headed to the face-off with my teammates. Go time.

I don't remember much of the minutiae that occurred in the following half of blitzball, beyond our plan working extremely well, until it didn't. We completely neutralized the Duggles for much of the half, limiting their possessions and forcing gift turnovers by stretching their formation. We struggled finding their goal, though, and as the game went on, their defense stiffened, and they got wise to our plans. Near the end of the half, they were pressing deep into our territory, crowding our defenders and even our forwards back towards our own goal, deploying stacked formations that made use of their great size and strength. The half ended with a Abes goal, a nicely angled bullet to the corner, but we were the frustrated team heading into the locker room. We were being bullied, and we knew it; It was time to come out firing and get another goal and give our defense some breathing room. A world class blitzball club could defend a 2-0 lead against anybody, and we were world class. Humble to boot, just ask me.

I remember Coach drawing the play up during half time, his short, hushed tone and his desperate energy infecting the entire team with a sort of nervous excitement. The concept was basic; Our center forward was set to start the half ball in hand. She'd charge the opposing goal, draw a triple team, and lose the ball to the smallest attacker in coverage. It was a setup my old man used to love; I'd be right on top of the action with a tackle, get the ball free, and get a nice setup from the other forward. Then, it was on me to do something awesome, and turn that setup into an assist.

The play worked like a charm. Selvie(I think that was her name...) drew the double team like a pro, and coughed up the ball to the one Duggle who had more in common with a stick than a golem. I had a swimming start, and plowed into that defender shoulder first with everything I had in me. He fumbled the ball, luckily, and was sent careening out of the sphere pool and into the stands. It was probably the sickest tackle of my short career. I retrieved the ball, offered a short pass to my counterpart, and kicked upwards with all my might. She took the feed and punted, sending the ball sailing up and out of the sphere pool, reaching it's apex about six feet over the top of the artificially suspended water. I breached like a whale, the ball at my back, and began to twist my body backwards. The intent was to execute a full back flip, use the momentum to generate some rad stink on the shot. It would be the goal that would dominate the highlight reels during the offseason, that would put my name on every set of lips. It would be my first official, visual middle-finger to my old man. I reached the crest of my spin, and tried to locate the ball, but my eye was drawn off the object of my intent and came to rest on something else.

Beyond the stadium, beyond Zanarkand, the ocean itself had come to life. A massive sphere of water, twice the size of our own sphere pool, hovered off the coast. My breath caught in my throat. I'd never seen anything like it. Then, glistening from within it, as if it had its own set of stars shining inside. Then, the explosions, and the screams. We were under attack. I cried out in surprise and alarm. The sphere pool, the stadium, had been hit my some sort of explosive; I felt the white hot flash of heat the accompanied such a detonation, and the water of the pool feel away as the stadium, elevated above the streets of lower Zanarkand, plummeted in on itself in a sea of flame, humanity, and debris, all made soup by the thousands of gallons spilling from the wrecked sphere pool. I began to fall, and flailed mightily, reaching my arms out for anything that might arrest the descent. This had all happened in a matter of seconds, and I had never been that afraid.

I found a ledge, or something, with my left hand, and hung on for dear life, but the desperate grip was far from solid, and I couldn't hang on. I plummeted down to lower Zanarkand, and what I thought would be certain death. My heart was pounding like a bass drum, and my vision went black. I thought my story had come to an end, cut short by the calamity from the seas, now in the sky above Zanarkand, raining destruction upon us.

As it turned out, my story was just beginning.

* * *

Hello all!

This is an attempt of mine to pay tribute to a great story that was absolutely formative in my development, as a gamer, person, and lover of all things fiction. :)

It will cling tightly to the scripted events of the games plot, with minor edits made for better flow, and to add a more realistic voice to each character(Translated games are a bit imperfect, and I can't speak Japanese, so if I, uh, "americanize" a line or two, I do it in service of the story. Please forgive me.) What I will add, in an effort to enhance and entertain, is additional scenes and content to better define the lead character, Tidus, and his relationships with the allies who became his friends, and ultimately, his family.

I would love to read any review or criticism you care to offer, after thanking you for reading this far. I'm here to become a better writer, and every opinion, critique, and bit of praise helps. Thank you so much for your time.

Also, I'd love a beta to work on this project with me. If you're interested, send a PM :).


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